Soldier of the Empire
From the journal of Fleet Trooper Liana Deova:
0481 17
As I was getting ready for bed, my rackmates asked me what my plans were for the furlough. It had been the talk of the whole ship ever since the captain's announcement of a full week's leave for all hands. I told them I was going home to Otella, to visit the house, family and friends that I hadn't seen in over a year. I also mentioned that as soon as I got there, I was going to buy the most brightly colored dress I could find and wear it the entire time. That elicited several laughs. (Aboard an Imperial warship EVERYTHING is either black, grey, or a light bulb.) It can get dreary after a few months. But I felt anything but dreary as I crawled into my rack and laid there. For my thoughts, and then dreams, were of home.
I awoke to the red-alert klaxon sounding in the berthing area. I jumped to the deck, pulled my uniform and helmet on, and was running to my battle station before my thoughts had even caught up with me. Drill was the first one. But then I noticed that the gentle background hum of the engines had been replaced by a full throated roar. That meant the Morning Star was running up to flank speed. And flank speed is no joke for a Carrack light cruiser. (We've chased down starfighters before.) One of the Gunner's Mates filled me in when I arrived at my battle station at the number six turbolaser cannon.
"We just jumped into a pirate trap. Looks like three heavy cruisers, five frigates, and a bunch of fighter craft."
I would later learn that it was a force of two Vindicator heavy cruisers, an Interdictor, three Interceptor frigates, two CR90 corvettes, and their attending fighters. They had been lying in wait for a convoy from the Adhl trade hub that was due to pass by in a few hours. Thanks to a scheduling mix up they had caught us instead: four Strike medium cruisers and six Carrack light cruisers, all en route to Adhl for a layover before separating to our assigned patrol areas. It was too much for the pirates to take on and win, and too much for us to engage without risking significant damage or casualties. But they couldn't jump away until their interdictor powered down its grav well generators, and we couldn't let them escape into the shipping lanes. That left only one option for either side: start shooting.
At the time though, all I knew was that we were facing down a fleet of capital ships and it wasn't going to be like the other engagements. There would be more than just us firing a few salvos to drive away a handful of petty thieves in an armed freighter, or a single warning shot across the bow of some smuggler. This was going to be an all-out battle. My first. But Petty Officer Karr was a good gun captain and had trained us well. I took up my station at the capacitor banks, the rest of the gun crew took their stations around me, and we went to work.
It's a common joke that turbolasers are so loud you can hear them in space. I don't know about that, but I do know that when you're right next to one you have to wear ear protectors and communicate with shouts and hand signals. That's what we did for the next twenty minutes. Over and over and over again: hand signals and shouts of "CHARGING", "READY", and "FIRE". And the sound of the turbolaser: The whip-crack of the capacitors discharging and then that deafening, melodious, bang as the cannon fired.
The worst part, for me, was not being able to see. I was facing away from the gun port with my hands working the big capacitor switches and my eyes glued to the temperature and energy read-outs; making sure nothing important melted. I couldn't see how the battle was going, couldn't see who we were firing at, or who was firing at us. I tried not to worry about it, tried to stay focused on my job. But the whole time my heart was pounding in my chest, right there with the sounds of the cannon pounding through my ear protectors.
When the ship got hit, there was no warning, no time to brace, just a sudden, violent lurch that threw me face first into a console. I saw bright purple lights behind my eyes, and then everything went dark.
Everything was still dark when I came to. Only the emergency lights were on and it took me a moment to regain my senses. My head ached. There was a throbbing pain in my nose, and my face felt sticky with blood. I looked around and saw wounded crewman lying in a row on either side of me. EM techs and medical droids moved among them; tending to some, talking to others, and checking those that lay still for signs of life. My friend Tavik, one of the helmsmen, saw me stirring and helped me sit up.
"You alright Lia?"
"I don't know, am I?" He nodded.
"More or less. Just a broken nose and concussion. That's what the medics said."
"That would explain this headache. Where are we anyway?"
"Section C Rescue Deck. We're waiting here for pick-up. The ship's been hulled."
"What?! How?"
"We lost our engines and got caught in a cross-fire between the two heavy cruisers. Add a couple of proton torpedoes from the fighters, plus all the fire we've been taking since this started…"
His voice trailed off. I couldn't believe it. Not us. Not the Morning Star. All of the time I'd spent aboard; the training, the patrols, those endless hours standing watch with the Boys of Number Six... all of it had made the ship seem permanent to me. The idea of it now drifting dead in space was too much to take in. I felt dizzy. I was also starting to realize just how badly my head was hurting. And then I remembered...
"Is the battle over?" Tavik flashed me a grim smile.
"Not hardly. Come take a look."
My eyes drifted over to the viewports. Nearly every crew member on the deck that could still stand was gathered around them. Tavik pulled me to my feet, led me over to the nearest one, and we both gazed out at the battle beyond.
I can barely describe what I saw.
Warships in the distance... Muzzle flashes... Weapon impacts... Indistinct grey shapes that changed into bright pulses of light and then back again. A glowing rain of turbolaser and ion cannon bolts sprayed between them. Brilliant streaks of red, green, and blue that lit up the blackness of space like the lightning from a hundred storms. Tiny specks of fighters and the sparks of their weapons danced around each other like glowbeetles at sunset. A sudden blaze of light. I watched two ships pour green laser fire into a third until it exploded in a blinding orange fireball.
It was terrifying. It was beautiful.
I stood there watching with Tavik and the rest of the crew. I was awestruck. I barely noticed the continuing pain from my face. After another ten minutes the firing finally died away and the battle ended. Shortly thereafter, an Imperial salvage crew cut their way into our compartment and brought us news of victory. I felt a vague sense of relief and satisfaction when I heard that. Mostly though, I just felt numb. It wasn't until they brought us aboard the rescue shuttle, and I saw what was left of the Morning Star that it all really hit me. I broke down into a shaking, crying mess.
In the end only two of the pirate ships, a cruiser and a frigate, managed to limp away to hypserspace. The task force blasted the others into shattered hulks and drifting wreckage. But it cost us the Morning Star, severe damage to the Manticore, Sentinel, and lesser damage to most of the other ships. From our crew alone there were over two hundred wounded, including me, and eighty-six killed. Still, we had done our duty. We had ensured the safety of the trade routs upon which so many planets, (including Otella,) depended. I was proud of that. Even though my part in the battle had been a small one, and even though I had completely freaked out after it was over, I was still proud of it. I carried that pride with me when I stepped off of the shuttle, onto Otella, and into the arms of my parents.
I've been home for five days now. I spent the first morning at the clinic; getting treatment for the injuries I'd come home with. But right after that, I went to the market and bought the brightest, most colorful dress I could find. Since then, I've been wearing it at every opportunity: Gatherings with family. Parties with friends. A late night tryst with a TIE pilot named Dahn, (which might not count since the dress didn't stay on for very long). And then, last night, I wore it on a walk through a qana field.
Up until then, I had spent nearly every waking moment with family and friends, or on some errand. I wanted some time to myself. So, after the sun set, I took a speeder out to the fields beyond the edge of town. I parked, stripped off my shoes and socks, walked barefoot through the qana rows and watched the glowbeetles swirl around me. I thought about the battle. The myriad lights of the glowbeetles reminded me of it: Memories of fear, exhilaration, and of watching the battle through that viewport. Then I thought about how peaceful it was in the qana field; surrounded by the warm night air, and the gentle breathing of the wind.
And I understood.
My family, my friends, the field I was walking in … I suddenly understood how much they all really meant to me. I don't know why that understanding came to me then and there, but it did. It washed over me. I fell to my knees, looked up at the sky; at the stars and the glowbeetles, and I smiled. Home. Family. Friends. No warlord would have cared about any of those things. No Jedi, trained as they are to silence their emotions, would have understood my passion for them. But the Empire understood. The Empire had made it it's heart and soul: Admiral Pellaeon's New Order with a Personal Face.
And I understood. There, in that field, I understood what it meant to be a soldier of the Empire.
This is my last night on Otella. Tomorrow my leave ends and I have to report to the Imperial Base at Sirha where I will be posted to another ship. I will take my new understanding with me. I will go aboard, do my job, make new friends, and be driven slightly mad by the black/grey/lightbulb paint scheme. I will stand at my turbolaser and fight with my fellow crew members against any and all enemies.
Because that face belongs to us. It's the lifeless face of a crewer lying next to me on the rescue deck of the Morning Star. It's the face of Petty Officer Karr; shouting orders and directing fire. It's Dahn's face... pressing against me in the sweet darkness. It's the face of a girl in a bright dress standing in a qana field on Otella.
It's a face worth living, fighting, and dying for.